The Flesh is Willing
by smacky30
Summary: Slow, gentle, lazy day smut.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Written for the 1hour2write Rossi/Prentiss Christmas Secret Santa Exchange. A gift for wojelah - one of the greatest people ever. Many, many thanks to mingsmommy and losingntrnslatn for their beta help. I truly appreciate it.

_"... See there's this place in me where your fingerprints still rest, your kisses still linger, and your whispers softly echo. It's the place where a part of you will forever be a part of me."  
Gretchen Kemp_

The sun streams in through the gauzy curtains, bathing the room in a rich yellow glow. Emily's smile is sleepy and warm and Dave is pretty sure he's never had the privilege of waking up beside a more beautiful woman.

"Morning," she mumbles and blinks slowly, her lashes casting faint shadows along her cheekbones. And his heart seems to swell in his chest at the sheer, unadorned beauty of her.

"Morning." He reaches out and brushes her hair out of her eyes. "Sorry about last night."

"Sorry?" Her eyes find his and she frowns a little, confusion causing those adorable little wrinkles between her eyebrows. "For what?"

Taking her hand, he places a kiss on her palm before letting his fingers tangle with hers. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. The mind was willing but…" He shrugs.

Her snort of disbelief brings a smile to his lips. "Good grief, Rossi, it was three a.m. You can't be serious."

He shrugs and brushes a kiss over her lips. The team had been on the road for weeks. Three different cities in twenty-six days, to be exact. Kansas City, Des Moines, Boise. Sometimes Dave wonders why they call it the heartland when it seems to be nothing more than a breeding ground for criminals.

The final case had closed in the early evening hours and the entire team vetoed the idea of another night in a hotel. By the time the plane landed and he and Emily reached her place it was well after two in the morning.

Dave can feel a blush heating his cheeks. "It's just that I _missed_ you."

He has missed her he realizes. Not just the sex, but the taste of her kiss, the feel of her hand in his or her arms around him. He's positive that if they are forced to endure another marathon like this last one, their rules about personal contact while on the road might actually kill him.

Her brown eyes sparkle with laughter. "You're just horny."

"Oh, that's definitely true," his thumb traces her lower lip. "But I missed kissing you and holding you and waking up next to you just as much as I missed having sex with you." She gasps and he feels it in the center of his chest.

_Her breath is like honey spiced with cloves, Her mouth delicious as a ripened mango.  
Srngarakarika, Kumaradadatta, 12th century_

"Well, I'm here now. _We're_ here now." She kisses him then, slow and sweet, with her hand cupping his cheek, and he forgets to breathe. He forgets everything except the way her mouth feels on his, the way her tongue feels against his, the soft sigh of her breath against his skin.

Dave is no saint. He never claimed to be. But there is definitely something different about Emily Prentiss. Kissing her, just kissing her, is like tasting the finest wine, like partaking in a meal prepared by the world's greatest chef. She is full of textures and flavors, and the only way to truly appreciate her is to savor her. So he tries to never rush this part. He licks and nips and lets her flood his senses until he's immersed in her.

Warm and pliant, she nestles against him with a quiet sigh, her muscles shifting underneath the soft cotton of his old pajama top. One delicate hand rests over his heart while the other slides through his hair, nails scratching gently over his scalp. She feels so good, so right in his arms. No one has ever felt like this. No one.

For long, slow minutes, minutes that pass without notice, he simply allows himself to be with her. Chest to chest, belly to belly, as he grows hard, he's kissing and touching and discovering her again and again. The long line of her spine, the curve of her ass, the softness of her breasts pressing against him. She meets him half way, her tongue sliding against his in a dance she very well could have invented. Soft and strong, everything he wants and more than he deserves.

Rising up, he presses her into the mattress, loving the way she moans, the way her body fits against his. She's moving against him now, restless and seeking. And he wants to give in, to dive in, to rush in; she is temptation personified. Pushing up into him, hands impatient on his skin, mouth greedy and voracious against his, but as much as he wants her, he wants even more to make this last. He wants to taste every inch of her skin, to visit all the places that make her crazy, to enjoy every delicious moment to the fullest.

He captures her fingers, kissing them before pinning her hands over her head. "Slow down."

Her groan is a mixture of impatience and anticipation. "Dave," she smiles up at him and runs her foot along his calf, "it's been a month."

With a quiet chuff of laughter he settles himself against her, the heat of her warming him even through the fabric separating them. "Believe me, I _know_ how long it's been." Bending, he rubs his cheek against hers and whispers in her ear, "But, I want to take my time with you. Just so you'll know how much I've missed you." He feels her shiver and he's not sure if it's his breath against her ear or his words that cause it. "Let me make love to you, Emily." She nods and he feels the desire coil tighter in his belly.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Dave skims a finger over her cheek and along her jaw. "So beautiful."

She watches him through heavy eyes as he traces the perfect bow of her upper lip. He sucks in a breath and shakes his head playfully when her teeth nip at his skin. His fingers trail along the smooth column of her throat, her pulse slow and heavy under his touch. Dipping his head, he brushes his mouth over hers, his tongue sliding along her lower lip while his hand finds the first button on her top. "I want to see you," he says as he begins to unfasten the shirt.

Emily shifts against him and he can feel the damp cloth of her panties against his thigh and his cock twitches with the knowledge that she's ready for him. He wants, with a fierceness he never thought possible, to crawl between her legs, tug her panties aside and slide inside her. But he wants so much more than that. He wants her…all of her. The realization shocks him for a moment and his hand fumbles with the last button. Then she trails a hand along his spine and breathes out his name and he slips the shirt open.

Brushing the cloth to the side, he simply looks at her. Gorgeous alabaster skin, delicate collarbones, and high, firm breasts with dusky pink nipples that exactly match the color of her lips. Sometimes, late in the day when all her lipstick is gone, he sees her lips and all he can think about is seeing her like this, with her nipples tight and hard and begging for his hands and mouth.

His eyes skim along the length of her body to where his hand rests possessively just below her navel. The dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the sweet rise of her mound beneath the plain cotton of her panties. She's so incredibly sexy. And the most amazing thing? She doesn't even know it.

_To press kisses on her skin is to taste the lotus, The deep cave of her navel hides a store of spices__._

_Srngarakarika, Kumaradadatta, 12th century_

His entire body trembles at the sight of her spread out beside him like the most sumptuous of buffets, a feast for all his senses.

Her hair is spread over the pillow like molten chocolate, a rich dark wave of silk against the simple white cotton pillowcase. Bending, he buries his face in the soft strands and the combined scents of honey and ginger envelop him.

Lifting his head, he brushes his lips against hers. "You smell so good. Sometimes just the smell of your hair is enough to make me hard." Her eyes widen and she lifts a trembling hand to cup his cheek. "Sometimes I can't think for wanting you."

She kisses him again, her lips fitting to his in a press that is both loving and sensual, and he loses himself in the feel of her, the taste of her. Finally, with a sigh, she pulls away, smiling up at him with such luminous eyes.

Slowly, reverently, he dips his head and runs his tongue along the underside of her breast, dragging it slowly over the tight peak, loving the perfection of her as she arches her back and clutches at his shoulders. The taste of her is exquisite, exotic. Salty and musky and something that is pure Emily, her flavors flood his mouth, exploding against his palette.

"Delicious," he murmurs against her sternum before turning his attention to her other breast. Drawing the tip between his lips, Dave sucks softly before nipping gently with his teeth.

"Dave." The sound Emily makes is a cross between and sigh and a moan and it feeds his desire for her. "Oh, god."

His hands are moving over her skin, tracing her ribs, circling her navel, brushing along her thigh. And he follows every stroke, every touch with the press of his lips. He kisses her shoulders and her wrists. His tongue glides over the sweet curve of her hip and along the crease at the top of her thigh. He can smell her now, the rich earthy scent of her arousal, and he buries his face against her panties and inhales before placing a soft, soft kiss just there.

Her fingers are in his hair, tugging him nearer, pushing her hips against his face, urging him on. But once again he implores her to slow down. The sweet sounds of her pleasure swirl around them, dance on the sunlight like dust motes in the air. His lips trail along the inside of her thigh and she whimpers. He nibbles at the back of her knee and she groans. He presses a kiss to her navel, his tongue dipping in to tickle her and she hisses out a curse.

She tastes fantastic; rich and sweet, tangy and earthy. Layer upon layer of flavor. Her skin smells of oranges and grapefruit, clean and citrusy and he can't get enough.

"They'll hunt you down, you know." Emily's voice is rough and low, need evident in every syllable.

Hooking his fingers in the sides of her panties, he works them down her hips until they barely cover her sex. "Who will?" The words are whispered against the ridge of a hipbone. A fine sheen of sweat covers her skin and he laps at it, drinking it in.

Her hands fist in the sheets. "The team," she grinds out. "When I die here because you're torturing me, they will hunt you down."

"You won't die, sweetheart." He rolls to the side and pushes her underwear down further, watching as the tiny strip of dark curls come into view. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."

_"When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness." __Amy Lowell_

Together they work the fabric down her legs and off. Then he begins again at her mouth. The kisses are hotter now, harder and more demanding. Like a starving man, he devours her, sucking at her mouth even as her nails rake over his back and dig into the cheeks of his ass. When he flicks a thumb over a turgid nipple, she feeds him the moan she can't suppress.

Now his mouth is on her chin, on the hollow of her throat, the pulse pounding under his lips. Never stopping, he takes first one breast, then the other into his mouth. She's arching against him, pressing more of her succulent flesh into his mouth, growling out her need.

His tongue swirls once again over her navel even as her hips rock against him. And then he's drawing a path across her flat stomach and lower, until he is between her thighs. She's so wet that her soft skin glistens with it. With a broad stroke of his tongue, he licks along her slit, then swallows, moaning at the tanginess. He gorges himself on her; suckling and nibbling at her lips until she is writhing on the bed.

"God, Rossi," she gasps, her voice hoarse and desperate. "Please…please…please…"

Spreading her open he takes a moment to simply look at her. She is a luscious pink and her clit is hard, begging for his attention. With a groan he dips his head to her again. She's on his lips, his tongue, everywhere. Hot and wet and so fucking good, he can't believe how amazing she tastes. His fingers find her opening and press inside. Her clit is between his lips and his tongue dances across it and she's calling his name and calling for god and he can feel her muscles tightening…tightening…tightening. With a sound that he's not sure he's ever heard before, she's coming. He can feel her muscles pulling at his hand and her juices flow like nectar, his every sense is filled with Emily. The very essence of Emily. And he knows that he is blessed.

_What pleasure lies beyond, the tongue knows, But cannot speak of it.__  
__Srngarakarika, Kumaradadatta, 12th century_

"Come here," Emily urges as her fingers scrabble at his shoulders. He shucks his boxers even as she's dragging him up until his hips rest between her thighs. Then her mouth is on his and she's sucking her own juices from his skin.

The head of his cock nudges against her, sliding along her slick flesh, and the feeling is so intense it hurts. He hears her gasp, so he grits his teeth against his own desire to be inside her and does it again. Slowly, deliberately he slides his cock along the length of her sex, her slick heat scorching him.

"Rossi," she nips at his jaw, "Dave…in me."

Dropping a kiss on her collarbone, he whispers, "Patience."

Her hips rock up and he can't think of anything more than her and _this_ and how much he needs to be inside her. Waiting may be the death of him. But her pleasure is more important than his, and he wants to see her when she goes over.

Dipping his head, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the tip. Then her legs are wrapping around his waist and her hips are angling up and he slips inside her, almost an accident, and his entire world comes down to nothing more than the exquisite torture of being surrounded by her.

He wants to go slow, but she's not having it. Somehow Emily has taken control and he's too far gone to put up a fight. She's moving underneath him, fucking herself with his cock and he gives himself over to the moment. He meets her stroke for stroke, pounding into her. Each of them greedily taking what the other is offering. Their bodies smack together, flesh against flesh. The deep, rich aroma of sex surrounds them.

Emily's head is thrown back, her eyes closed, a flush the color of ripe strawberries covers her chest and throat and he knows just how close she is. Pushing up on his arms, he changes the angle of his hips so that every stroke glides over her clit. And he hears the result in the noises she's making, feels it in the trembling muscles of her thighs. She's frantic, reaching and stretching, searching for the release her body craves. Her hands are on her breasts and she's pulling at her nipples and the sight almost destroys his last vestige of control. Then he feels it, that tightening of her muscles, the one he knows happens just before she comes.

He explodes and the entire world falls away. Vaguely he hears her voice calling his name, feels her nails digging into his skin. He drives into her over and over, his cock throbbing in time with the beating of his heart. Her muscles pulse around him, drawing him deeper and deeper, as he empties himself into her.

*****************

They are breathing in sync he realizes. The air flowing in and out of their bodies slow and easy. Lethargy is pulling him inexorably toward sleep but he fights it, hating to waste a single moment of being with Emily.

"Dave?" Her breath tickles over his chest.

A tired smile tugs at his mouth. "Hmmmmmmmm?"

"I'm starving." She lifts her head, propping her chin on his chest. Her lower lip pokes out in a silly pout and her eyes are sparkling.

"Why did I know that was coming?" He grins at her when she pokes him in the ribs. "Hey!"

"Hey nothing. I need food." She returns his grin and her stomach growls.

"Emily," he groans. "This is another one of those cases where the mind is willing but the flesh…is exhausted."

"Well, after that performance, you probably need sustenance." She places a soft kiss on his chest. "Come on, Rossi. Don't you want some pancakes and syrup and bacon and…?"

Chuckling, he runs a hand up her back. "Nothing can possibly be as good as you. But, I'll race you to the shower anyway."


End file.
